Hi there.
Welcome. I’m here, and I’m glad you are, too. I’m Tricia Joy, lover of all things real: kindness, humor, story-telling, creativity, imperfection, God, honesty, cuss words, and a heck of a lot of and silliness.
Welcome. I’m here, and I’m glad you are, too. I’m Tricia Joy, lover of all things real: kindness, humor, story-telling, creativity, imperfection, God, honesty, cuss words, and a heck of a lot of and silliness.
That’s sort of how I viewed my appearances in general: shouldn’t people love me without all the outward bells and whistles?
I don’t particularly like the experience of shopping at the grocery store.
Although I am a complete maniac for a good deal, clothes shopping from store to store for longer than the length of two Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episodes exhausts my thinker.
Don't get me started on tourist shacks set up to bait you into agonizing over which trinket, as a parent who occasionally says yes to fun, to get ripped off by: a beanie baby horseshoe crab, an hour glass key chain, or a flimsy mood ring.
Amazon’s fine, I guess, but honestly I’m not sure my credit card can handle much more of it.
I hate it when the stuff of my exterior life does not match the stuff of my interior life, and visa versa. When one is not communicating to the other very well, getting all the words wrong in a botched game of telephone, it’s confusing and disorienting.
My kids were seated on either side of me, not because I like to split my attention equally among them but because their bickering required it.
I slashed through the cardboard with a serrated knife, because, like everything else in my life, my kitchen shears were misplaced.
Buried so deeply beneath life’s mountain of sippy cups and Legos and socks with no matches, I found myself doubting that what they said could be true…
It’s OK is what we say to people when we’re holding their hands, rubbing their backs, holding back their hair. Why can’t we offer ourselves that same comfort all the time?
Conversation 2.0, both the platonic and nonplatonic-oriented kind, is sometimes hard to make the leap to, especially in a world where the niceties of shallow small talk sometimes feel like the only space that is safe.
I don’t know about you, but for me the days went on for freaking ever this summer.
Some things are beautiful because of their permanence. Others, because of their impermanence.
Let me tell you, if you wonder how sure of yourself you are, attempting to monetize yourself and your gifts after being out of the game for a bit will bring the mirror right up to your scraggly face and say, “Not so sure of yourself after all, huh?”
Am I blessed? Maybe. Am I lucky? Maybe? Am I a product of my own hard work? Maybe.
Am I grateful? You bet your socks off.
When I was a kid, nobody could really figure out what my dad did with the majority of his time. He seemed to move around the house looking somewhat laboriously engaged but at the end of the day he often had nothing to show for it and yet somehow appearing as though he desperately needed a nap.
“I had no idea I was holding all of these expectations for my kids and my mother’s relationship until I realized there’d not be one.”
Your house and your calendar and your laundry all fall on you. And that can feel crushing when you hate house stuff, calendar stuff, and laundry stuff. Q: What to do? A: Get creative.
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